Reflections of Blue
by Merlin Missy
Summary: The hero must face life without his love.


Reflections of Blue  
a Star Trek: The Next Generation story  
by Merlin Missy  
copyright 1996, 2001

As per usual, everything belongs to Paramount. If they want this one, it's  
theirs.

* * *

He'd always hated Autumn. On every world he'd ever set foot upon, there was  
always a time for the closing of the year, when the green growing things turned  
orange and red and brown and crumbled away to nothingness. The simple loss  
of such beauty filled him with a brand of despondency he feared. From the  
time he had been able to make such choices on his own, he'd never been  
on-planet long enough to let the Autumn-feelings sink into him, to cast their  
cold shadows across his soul.

Until now.

The trees here were descended from those imported from Earth; the same bright  
colors of his childhood were at his feet now, drifting along in a breeze almost  
blocked by the surrounding elms and oaks and pines. That was a blessing, at  
least. The wind would never blow here too hard, and even the snow would be  
somewhat blocked from this place. Perhaps she wouldn't get so cold out here  
at night beneath the empty stars.

He felt the tears welling up inside of him again, and for the thousandth time in  
the past week, pushed them into a deep place within himself. He had to be  
strong now. For all of them.

Not for the first time, he saw the irony of the flowers placed lovingly around  
the spot. Only one or two were still alive, to actually be planted. The rest had  
been cut free of their roots to be set for an hour, a day, and then wither like the  
leaves that were already forming a blanket over the freshly turned soil.

Someone had sent bluebells, of all things. Lilies he would have expected, and  
roses. Bluebells had not been in his mental image of appropriate flowers, and  
then his thoughts stopped cold. There were no flowers that were right for ...  
this. Roses were for young love, and innocence, and faith. The crimson blush  
of one caught his eye, and he recalled the slight blush to her cheek and her  
petal-soft lips, and the bluebells were her eyes, wide and open and glimmering  
with life.

He wondered how old she had been when the family had set aside this  
particular plot. Her mother's grave, now grown cold these many years, lay  
beside her own, the marker standing stiff against the sky, claiming a name, two  
dates, a few bits of vital information, remarkably similar to her daughter's  
marker.

The line of duty. They had thought to put that on the stone at least, for all the  
universe to see. She'd died doing her job, just like any other of ten thousand  
Starfleet officers. He'd seen far too many people die in his career, and every  
one had been as bright and warm to someone as she had been to him. He  
had separated himself from them, just enough so that he wouldn't have to feel  
such pain. He'd never even imagined that the one person who meant more than  
the universe itself could be so utterly selfish and leave him like this.

He felt the eyes of his friends on his back, remaining at a discrete, respectful  
distance. It would be time to go soon. They understood this loss all too well,  
felt it with him almost as deeply, but none of them could remain forever in a  
graveyard. To even consider it would be to abandon the very hope of life.  
They didn't have that kind of luxury.

Gently, he cleared the few scattered leaves that had already gathered away from  
the grave. No use letting them pile up just yet. He'd be gone from this  
Autumn-place soon, with the Autumn permanently within him. He'd go back to  
the little life he had staked out on the ship, and he would attempt to piece back  
together the shattered remnants of his soul. At least he would not be alone in  
the process. Otherwise, he would quite certainly go mad. On second thought,  
perhaps he would go mad anyway.

He stood, unaware that he had been kneeling for the better part of an hour. It  
was time to leave the roses, knowing nothing anymore but that the reflection of  
blue in a window would always bring to his mind thoughts of bluebells among  
the false cheer of golden leaves.

He placed his hand against the headstone one last time. Cool marble. He'd  
asked for it specifically when he'd first been able to think afterwards, and he'd  
not been denied. He hoped that she liked it.

His vision blurred, and the tears began running down his cheeks, his nose,  
making a small salty rain to splash upon the ground. He'd given the eulogy in a  
quiet voice, unbreaking. He'd remained throughout the service and had  
watched the burial and had listened to the pipes without letting himself give in  
to the despair. He couldn't wait any longer.

Amazingly, to him, once he finally let them come, the tears lasted hardly longer  
than a summer shower, washing him empty, leaving no room for self-blame,  
for the thought "If only I had been there ... " Leaving him open to grieve her as  
he should.

It was indeed time to leave. No one would blame him for staying a little  
longer, but he could not justify it anymore to himself. He needed to return to  
some semblance of life. Perhaps he'd even remember how to smile in a year or  
two.

He knelt again, picked up one of the cut roses, and placed a kiss against the  
center. He set it against the base of the stone, and turned away to meet the eyes  
of those few who had waited with him during the vigil of the laying to rest of  
one they had all loved. They had also said their goodbyes to her and he  
wondered suddenly how different things might have been if it had been, by  
some strange miracle, his own death instead of hers. He knew by experience  
that fate was immutable, that there was no way to change what had already  
happened, that had she not died, twenty others would have. What could he  
possibly exchange to be worth such a high price?

A throat cleared. "If you'd like to wait, we can spend more time here."

"Thank you," he said softly, "but I think we should be going soon. It's not her  
there. Not anymore."

But I wish she was here, he thought.

The others said nothing, merely told him with their eyes that they were with  
him, that they understood. In a solemn group, they followed him silently back  
to Felisa's house.

It was time to pick up Wesley from his great-grandmother, time to rebuild their  
family, broken as it was, aboard the Stargazer, time to learn the impossible  
task of living without her. It was time to go home.

* * *

The End

* * *


End file.
